There’s something happ’ning at the Grange
It’s quite bizarre, it’s rather strange
Our generous host has gone quite lax
When it comes to simple snacks.
His Golden Wonders are just not
His Walkers fail to hit the spot.
The onion’s cheese is too mature
The beef was old in days of yore
The chicken’s flown the barbecue
The cocktailed prawn is far from new
There’s even salt in small blue twist
With origins in times of mist.
“These crisps ain’t crisp!” his guests exclaim
And quickly find just what's to blame.
Inspecting the offending pack
Printed plainly on the back
They see a date from long ago
Telling all who need to know
These bags are not the freshest sort
Ever seen near Ashton Court.
The sell-by dates have just flown by
But one can guess the reason why.
Though some may like a little nibble
H prefers his daily tipple.